


Logged In As John H. Watson

by jawnhamish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, John Watson's Blog, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawnhamish/pseuds/jawnhamish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Introduction to John's life as a blogger after Sherlock comes back. Hopefully, it becomes more not odd (..?) later on. Or steady? This series is based on a roleplay blog of my beta, D. (bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Beginning

_**It’s been three years. Three bloody years. And he comes back. I went through therapy for that bastard. And who does he think he is? Just going to waltz back in my sad life again? But of course. It’s “me” we’re talking about. John Hamish Watson. The man that would do anything for that bastard. The man that would never say no to him. The man that would put himself on the line for a certain curly-haired sociopath. Bah humbug. Sociopath my foot. That man knows things. And he bloody uses them to his advantage. Bloody hell. Why do I even do this? I don’t even know most of the time. Just look at me! I couldn’t even bring myself to leave our flat. Oh look at me. I am so pathetic. With or without him. Till next time.** _

_**\- John Watson -** _

_**Posted at 6:46am on Wednesday, 22nd May 2013** _

John sighs in frustration as he shuts the lid of his laptop. All he can think about now is “Why? Why me? Why?” But then he stops. He knows why. He just doesn’t want to believe in it yet. Three years’ worth of therapy, pain, depression and anxiety. All gone to waste. But then, to him, when it comes to Sherlock Holmes, nothing is a waste. He grimaces at the thought of him. Why does he spend so much time thinking about him? He doesn’t know.

But let’s rewind a bit. Back to a few days ago. Back to the day Sherlock came back.

“You’re at it again, John.”

“Hm?” John was snapped out of his thoughts by a timid, female voice across from him. What had he even been thinking about?

“You’re daydreaming again. Either that or you’re thinking a lot.”

“Sorry about that, Molly. It’s just...“

The cafe was full of life today. everywhere you looked there were people, laughing, talking, just generally living their happy little lives. John can hear the clattering of tea cups and the words of many conversations all around him. He leaves the noise to fill in for his awkward silence, the smell of strong coffee bringing back small speckles of nostalgia as he stares blankly into his half empty coffee cup below him on the table.

“Just what?”

“Just...” John lets out a sigh and a small, grim smile. “It’s been three years, hasn’t it?”

“Three years since what?” Molly starts to recount the important dates from 3 years ago.

“Oh you know…” John stares at her expectantly. Molly just looks confused and shrugs her shoulders.

“My goodness, Molly. It’s been three years since he died!” John says a little bit too loudly.

“O-o-oh. T-ha-a-at.” Molly stammers. John realized he might have scared her a bit with his sudden outburst. Another awkward silence blankets them as John looks guiltily down at his cup once more.

“I’m sorry, Molly. Didn’t mean to scare you there.”

“O-oh. It’s alright, Jo-ohn.” _Great. She must be really scared of me now_ , John thinks.

“Look, I’m really sorry. It’s just that today has been getting on my nerves and I accidentally took it out on you.” John apologizes again. He feels like he has the need to say something.  
“I...I was just wondering if you miss him.” A sudden stab of sadness settles in the pit of his stomach at mention of him.

“Of course I do, John. He was a rather dear friend of mine too, mind you.” Molly gives a small smile and then giggles.

_Does she not like him in that way anymore?_

“Oh uhm, I was just- I mean-“ Now it’s John’s turn to stammer.

“Are you wondering if I still like him?” her eyes gather a reproachful look and she smirks slightly.

John shuffles in his seat and pulls at his collar uncomfortably and says, “Yes actually.”

Molly giggles again and says, “Oh no, John. I’ve been waiting on that man for far too long now. I decided to call it quits when he died.”

John grimaces at how bluntly she put it. “Oh.” That’s all he could say.

“Well, what about you? Don’t you miss him?”

John looked startled as he was rather taken aback by the sudden change of subject. He could feel something empty twist in his gut and he wet his lips, feeling his throat clench up.  
“Oh uhm me? Why, of course. He was my best friend. Still is, in fact.”

Molly smiles at his response and says, “Well then, you would be very pleasantly surprised very soon.”

John stares at her confusedly again but says nothing.

The pair continue their meal in a comfortable silence with occasional exchange of praises for the food. Soon, lunch time is over and Molly has to go back to the morgue. She bids John goodbye and thanks John for paying for the lunch (of course John insists to pay. He is, after all, a gentleman.).

After lunch, John starts to head back to the flat, hesitating slightly before he reaches Baker Street.

It’s still rather early, he thinks, a bit of fresh air won’t hurt. especially after all that talk of...him. And with that, he decides to go the park nearby instead. He reaches the park with his third cup of coffee for the day in his hand. The park is fairly empty and there is a smell of freshly cut grass in the air, John concludes that this was a very good idea indeed as he finds a nice bench under a tree and sits down. Rather beautiful day, isn’t it? God. You’d be laughing at me now if you’ve seen me like this, he chuckles to himself, it’d still be better than being here alone though. The fond smile he had before is gone and he returns to sulking, that empty feeling twists his insides more now. A few minutes later, his phone chimes and tells John that he has received a message.

The message is from a certain phone number that he had told himself to forget. A contact that would never send him texts again. But here it is.

**From : SH**

**To : JW**

**Time : 2.47pm, 20th May 2013**

**YOU SOLD MY SKULL? – SH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This will be my first fanfic. I am rather new to this. So some feedback would be really nice. Thank you!
> 
> p/s : I had a lot of help from my beta, D. You can find her at obviously-i-m-sherlocked.tumblr.com and bekerstreethousehold.tumblr.com . I really want to thank you so much. omg. Love ya! 
> 
> p/p/s : My name's J and you can find me at jawnhamish.tumblr.com


	2. Resolution

##  Chapter 2 : Resolution 

_No. No. No. No. No. No. It can’t be. No way in hell is it him. This is some sort of sick joke. No bloody way could it ever be him. I saw him jump. I saw him. I -_ , John doesn’t even know what to think anymore. His hands. Trembling. His leg. Shaking. He can’t control it. He can’t help it. Three bloody years. It took Sherlock three bloody years to make contact. _Hold on, he’s dead. He CAN’T make contact._ John is still frozen to the bench. One hand clutching his now cold cup of coffee and the other holding his mobile phone. He stops staring at the text message and looks up. He’s silently hoping this was just a dream. _Sherlock texting me? What a joke. Wait till Lestrade or Molly hears about this._ Not long after, John’s phone chimes again. This time, it’s from the older Holmes.

**From : MH**

**To : JW**

**Time : 3.06pm, 20th May 2013**

**It’s real. – MH**

John, again, looks baffled and stunned. He doesn’t know what to do now. _Should I go home_ , John ponders, _or should I stay here for a little while more?_ John decides it’s best to just face it now rather than facing it later.

With a heart as heavy as the largest stone, our good doctor makes his way back to Baker Street. I’ll never recover from this; he grimaces at the thought, if this is a lie. I will never recover from this. Not long after, he reaches the door to the flat. As he puts in the key, he already plans on how he’ll kill himself later when this turns out to be a fake. _Knife? Messy. Noose from belt? Too much hassle. Pills? Easy. Well, pills it is._

Whilst walking up the creaking steps, he hears some footsteps from the flat. No way, John thinks. He hobbles up the stairs faster now. When he opens the door, the first thing he sees is the coat. _His coat_ , he adds.

“Sherlock…?”

“Yes, John?” Sherlock says as he turns around and looks John in the eye.

“Is it… y-you?” John’s voice is wavering.

“Yes, John. It’s me. It’s real.” Sherlock gives John a small smile.

“So you’re not a hallucination? You sent me a text?”

“Ah yes. About that, where’s my skull? You really didn’t sell it, did you? Shouldn’t people like you have kept it for sentimental reasons or purposes?”

“Now you stop right there, Sherlock. It’s been three years. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Can’t you see, John? You’ve been with me for two years before I was gone. You should’ve picked up at least a few deduction skills from me? Or have you forgotten already?”

“Oh, trust me, Sherlock. I am very close to throwing you out the window like what you did to that American spy from a while ago. So I am giving you an option. Give me the right answer or I will throw you out the bloody window.”

“You’ve improved, John. Good job. If you should know, I did it for you.”

“Me?” John sounds more curious than threatening now.

“Yes, you, John. Well, not just you, to be frank, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade included.”

“What? Wha-? What in the world are you talking about?” John demanded.  
  
Sherlock creases his brow and sighs. “Moriarty said he will either kill me or three of you. Obviously killing myself off rather than having the three of you die was the noble thing to do.”

“Wha-?” John is speechless. His hand is shaking again. He props himself on to the table next to the door. “So you’re saying, you “died” to save us?” John added the emphasis by using air quotations.

“Yes, John. Please don’t make me repeat myself. It is treacherous as it is.”

“How.” John says. _Short, one word sentences_ , Sherlock thinks, _not good._

“Molly.”

“Molly..?”

“Yes, Molly. She helped me. She thought me how to fall without dying.”

“But the body. But I- I took your pulse.”

“Easy. I clamped a ball under the armpit of the arm I knew you’d take the pulse from.”

“B-but the blood…”

“Packet of blood from St. Barts.”

“I knew it.”

“You knew it?”

“I knew something when Molly said I would be “pleasantly surprised” soon.” John and his emphasis with the air quotations again.

“Molly told you?” Sherlock gasped. “She wasn’t to tell anyone. NO ONE AT ALL!” Sherlock shouted the last part.

“YOU ARE NOT TO BLAME HER.” John retaliates. “YOU WERE THE ONE THAT STARTED ALL THIS. YOU WERE THE ONE THAT PUT ME THROUGH THREE YEARS OF HELL, SHERLOCK. NOT HER. YOU. I DON’T BLOODY CARE IF YOU SAID IT WAS FOR MY SAFETY. MY LIFE, EVEN. YOU COULD’VE AT LEAST SENT ME BRIEF MESSAGES OR AT LEAST MAKE MYCROFT TELL ME THE TRUTH. THAT SHERLOCK HOLMES WAS REAL. THAT I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG. HAVE YOU EVER GIVEN ME A THOUGHT AT ALL?”

“John, I- I’m really sorry. I didn’t think so far. I- I was rather busy. I admit. I should’ve asked my brother to tell you but I wasn’t willing to risk it.”

“Well, I believe you didn’t think about this either.” And with that, John punches Sherlock.

Sherlock staggers back, biting his tongue for a smart retort on how he already knew that.

John looks at his fist and back at Sherlock. He sees the bruise starting to form under his eye. It’s welling up slowly. _That is going to hurt more at the end of the day_ , John thinks.

“Would you like another, John?” Sherlock stifles back a yelp as he touches his newly-forming bruise.

“Oh, I would really love to throw you out of that damn window right now. So, watch yourself, Sherlock.”

Sherlock gives him a small smile and thinks, _yes. This is my John._ “You know I do, John.”

He gives John a bigger smile but that smile falters as he sees the light in John’s eyes disappear again.

John doesn’t know what to say anymore. He makes his way to his arm chair and sits in it without looking at Sherlock.

“John..?” Sherlock pauses and sighs again. He walks over to John’s chair and kneels in front of John. “John?” John stares blankly at him. “John, look. I’m sorry. I apologize. I shouldn’t have left for three years without even telling you but if I did I would’ve risked your life.” John looks into those glasz eyes of Sherlock. “I would never ever hurt you intentionally, John. I’d be lost without my blogger.” By now, Sherlock sees a small smile tugging at the corner of John’s lips.

“When I was making my way up here, I was already planning on how to kill myself if this was a lie.” Now it’s Sherlock’s turn to look shocked.

“I- Y-you couldn’t ha-ave.” Sherlock’s voice fails him.

“It was going to be pills, Sherlock. I would’ve chosen pills.” John is smiling at the thought now.

“No, John. Y-you c-can’t.” Sherlock pauses. “What am I to do without you, John?”

“You’d be fine, Sherlock.” John is now looking at Sherlock with a tight smile.

Sherlock can feel the tears start to build up slowly, he thinks, _No. Not my John. No, you can’t do this, John. Not now. Not ever._

John closes his eyes and is now running his fingers through Sherlock’s rather messy and wild mop of hair. One thought runs through his mind, _Sherlock._

When John opens his eyes, he is met with Sherlock’s owns eyes that are on the brink of tears. John gives a strained smile and says, “Thank you for coming home, Sherlock.”

“No, John. Thank you for letting me and not throwing me out the window.”

And with that, John gives a hearty laugh and throws his arms around his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Sorry if I took awhile to add another chapter but here it is!
> 
> Thanks so much to D again for being an amazing beta! x
> 
> p/s : You can find D at obviously-i-m-sherlocked.tumblr.com and bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com .
> 
> p/p/s : My name's J and you can find me at jawnhamish.tumblr.com


	3. Complications

It’s a beautiful day today. But our good doctor is apparently stuck with a certain sociopath inside Baker Street. John is sitting in his armchair fiddling with his laptop while Sherlock is sprawled on the sofa with his head dangling off it.

“You need to go out, Sherlock.” John says.

“No.” Sherlock murmurs and furrows his brows.

“But why? You need to tell people eventually anyways.” John states. “And besides, I’m getting bored here.”

“Do I bore you?” Sherlock lifts his head up and looks at John.

“No. Well, yes. But it’s mostly because I NEED TO GO OUT.” John turns around and looks back at Sherlock.

“But why…” Sherlock drabbles on but John isn’t paying any attention.

“That’s it. I’m calling Molly. You are driving me up the wall. We’ve been indoors for the past three days! One more second with you alone and I will explode!” John has reached his point. He can’t stand to see Sherlock lying around doing nothing in particular whilst staring at John while John reads the news or watches some telly or even eating takeout. “I mean, come on. We’ve even paid a teen to bring us food. This is ridiculous, Sherlock!”

“Mmmfff-“ Sherlock grumbles and turns his back to John.

“What’s that?” John smiles.

“FINE.” Sherlock shouts and makes his way to his room. “Call Molly. I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do!” John is now grinning victoriously to himself as he reaches for his mobile phone to call Molly and invite her for lunch at Baker Street.

***

At around 1 in the afternoon, a petite blonde is seen knocking on the front door of Baker Street and holding a plastic bag containing Indian takeout.

Of course she brought them lunch. The boys can’t bloody well cook especially since there’s nothing to cook at home.

Footsteps are heard from inside the house and not long after, the door is opened by John.

“Good afternoon, John.” Molly greets him and smiles.

“Afternoon, Molly. Come on up.” John smiles back.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I brought Indian takeout for you boys.”

“Ah yes, lunch. I think I forgot about that. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Their conversation goes on until they’ve put down the food on the table.

“Oh yes. I almost forgot. SHERLOCK!” John shouts.

Sherlock grunts and grumbles loudly in his room before opening up and walking out his bedroom door. “What do you want.”

“Lunch, Sherlock.” John looks at Sherlock and grins.

“No.”

“Yes.” John says sternly. “And we have a guest. So remember your manners please.”

Sherlock narrowly eyes Molly and admits defeat. “Fine. What did you get us?”

“Oh. Uh. “ Molly shocked by the sudden change of conversation and says, “I got you the tandoori chicken that you always have and the curry lamb stew that John likes.” She smiles at John and looks back at Sherlock.

“Hm. Fine.” Sherlock mumbles in disdain.

And with that, the trio sit at the table tucking into their Indian takeout.

John and Molly carry on their conversation and Sherlock occasionally gives his own input here and there, even if it mostly consists of a snide remark or joke. The atmosphere was warm and friendly... It has been awhile since the doctor had felt such an atmosphere.

That is until he brought up the topic of bringing back his blog.

“What?!” Sherlock exclaims with his mouthful of chicken.

“Calm down, Sherlock. And eat properly.” John stares at Sherlock, confused at his sudden reaction.

“No.” Sherlock says after he swallows his food.

“Why?” John looks at him quizzically, folding his arms with upcoming annoyance.

“Yes. I always thought it’d be a good idea.” Molly adds.

“People will know and they will come. I don’t want them to come.” Sherlock states bluntly, stabbing his fork in another piece of chicken.

“Then what are you going to do? Hm?”

“I...I don’t know.” Sherlock mumbled, looking down at his almost finished bowl of chicken and rice.

“Exactly.” John says triumphantly. “ Also, we’re meeting Lestrade at the pub at 9 this evening.”

“What?!” Sherlock sits up straight as an arrow. “Why Lestrade!?” he complains loudly, his baritone voice projecting around the room, “And I don’t drink. neither do you.” he adds bluntly, pointing his fork at John.

“I do drink. Because of your absence. I drink.” John looks away, not making eye contact with either Molly or his flat mate.

“Oh… I didn’t know.” Sherlock is feeling rather guilty now. Didn’t expect him to turn out like this.

“So it’s settled then. We will go to the pub tonight.” John smiles warmly, eyes now locked on Sherlock.

This is not a good day, Sherlock grimaces. “Fine.”

***

After a lunch’s worth of chit chat, Molly has to go back to the morgue.

She bids the boys farewell and wishes them the best. There are lots of ‘thank yous’ and ‘goodbyes’ before she finally leaves the flat. After she’s gone, Sherlock lets out a loud sigh.

“What was that supposed to mean?” John asks as he starts clearing the table.

“Oh hm. Nothing at all.” he bites sarcastically.

“My oh my, did the great Sherlock Holmes learn sarcasm?”

“I always knew it, John. I just preferred not to use it.” he says with a shrug.

John chuckles and says, “No, really. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing John. I’m serious” the detective sighs airily. The military man doesn’t believe him but keeps his mouth shut anyway, placing the dirty cutlery and dishes in the overcrowded sink.

“So...what are you going to tell Lestrade?” John calls from the kitchen, busying himself with the washing up.

There was a small grumble and mumbles, which thus ended in silence.

I guess we'll just have to find out eventually, won't we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for staying with me. I really appreciate all of you. Please leave me some feedback because it would really help me mold my story.   
> Again, please check my beta, D, out at obviously-i-m-sherlocked.tumblr.com and bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com .  
> Not to forget me at jawnhamish.tumblr.com (:


	4. Night Out With The Boys (...?)

##  Chapter 4 : Night Out With The Boys (...?) 

“Oh my god!” Lestrade practically yelled, catching a glimpse of the flat mates through the grubby window of the tavern, "Slap me, John. I’m seeing things.” He gapes at the slender man next to John as the both of them enter the pub.

John glances up at the D.I. as he slides his coat off his shoulders, worry clouding his features, “What? No, Greg. It’s alright.” John stares at him in bewilderment and then softens his gaze. “It’s alright, Greg. He’s alive. Not dead. Alive.” He chimes with an airy smile.

“Thought you’d be happy to see me, Inspector.” Sherlock gives him a small smile as he pulls a stool to sit next to our detective inspector, a smirk playing on his lips as he observes his expressions.

Greg is still gaping at the man he believed to be dead, eyes wide and face suddenly pale.

Sherlock sighs. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” He huffs with a sly grin.

The astonished look in Greg’s eyes are gone. His features curtly pull into a frown and then wash away to a look of fury, “How the bloody hell?! YOU WERE DEAD. YOU FELL. J-JOHN, John… saw you.” he roars, throwing his arms into the air; his yells causing quite a bit of attention from around the small pub.

“Yes, I know, Greg.” John hastily blurts, putting an arm around Lestrade, trying in his best attempts to calm him down, “That’s what I thought too.” he grimaces with a wry smile, “But he came back ey? This stinkin’ bastard came back.” he almost laughs sourly.

Greg’s face falls as he watches the words travel out of John’s mouth, gawping awkwardly at his display of exasperation.

The circle of friends went quiet for a while. They were getting completely drowned out by the laughing and cheery atmosphere of the pub.

“I am right here you know…” Sherlock finally speaks up, rolling his eyes in an attempt to look unfazed, however John notices him shifting uncomfortably on his stool. _Maybe I shouldn’t have said those things_ , John thinks.

The doctor resumes his seat, letting go of Lestrade’s shoulder. The D.I is looking down at his empty beer glass, brows knitted together and obviously coming to terms with the reappearance of his dear friend.

A bartender with a long face and a weak chin appeares from one of the back rooms and bitterly glares at the greying man who almost immediately raises his empty glass to him,  
“Can I get another?” Lestrade slurs at man “And a pint for my friend here.” he adds, waving a hand in the general direction of John.

“Coming right up.” The bartender nods with a forced smile and busies himself with the drinks.

“As for you,” Lestrade turns to face Sherlock. “What am I going to do with you?” He garbles, seriousness clouds his eyes as he seriously wonders what will happen with him and the detective.

Sherlock can smell the booze on him and can’t stop the thoughts that proceed to invade his head. _Intoxicated. Been here awhile. Obviously bad day, probably by the new officer that joined. Eyes bleak, wife must’ve taken the kids again._ Deductions whirl through Sherlock’s mind as he tries to come out with an answer, “Don’t be silly, Lestrade. You need me.” he drawls with a lazy smile, trying to look as human as possible.

Lestrade scoffs and takes another swig of his drink.

“Sherlock.” John glares over Lestrade’s shoulder to give the consulting detective a disapproving look.

“Not good?” Sherlock mouths.

John shakes his head and goes back to his beer.

Sherlock felt an awkward pull in his stomach and he felt like he should try and say something ‘human’ and ‘not himself’ to make up for it, “I’m sorry to have kept you in the dark for so long, Lestrade.” Sherlock looks glumly at the intoxicated man. “But my death really was necessary to keep you alive.” The curly haired man chews his lower lip at the frustration of his inability to communicate.

Lestrade’s eyes widen and says, “What? No. You must be joking.” He pauses. “Right?”

“No.” Sherlock says bluntly and glances at John before looking back at Lestrade. defeat swelling in his stomach as he opens his mouth to explain all the grizzly details,

“Forget it.” Lestrade interrupts, “ I can’t take anymore tonight.” he sighs and starts drinking again. “You can tell me about it tomorrow.”

Sherlock felt shocked but that soon melted into a feeling of acceptance. he felt like he was finally back, and it was a nice feeling.

Lestrade and John continue drinking, occasionally having small conversations with irrelevant inputs from Sherlock, they laughed and joked but most of all indulged in each others company.

***

At quarter to two in the morning, the two drinking men decided they had enough and settle to head back. They bid each other farewell and a glassy eyed Lestrade starts to stumble away when he suddenly pauses; He spins around rather quickly for a drunken man and launches himself, surprisingly, towards Sherlock, tackling the taller man into a bear hug. Sherlock almost falls over from the strength and he tenses up in the D.I’s arms, looking to John in confusion and a sprinkling of panic.  
  
There was a long, awkward silence where Lestrade just stood there for a while. Sherlock gulped nervously and moved rigidly to try and peel him off but he stalls when he hears the drunk man whimper in complaint,

“Thank you, Sherlock.” Lestrade blubbers impulsively as tears start to fall from his eyes and onto Sherlock’s thick coat, “Thank you.”

“Oh, uhm… It’s fine, Greg.” Sherlock mumbles while trying to returning the hug embarrassedly “um..Everything is going to be fine.” he reassures uncomfortably.

Lestrade emitted a deep, alcohol laced laugh and says, “Wait ‘till Anderson and Sally hears about this.” Lestrade’s intoxicated brain starts to make him giggle uncontrollably at that thought.

“Oh my. Uh, John?” Sherlock gasps exasperatedly, trying desperately to shove the man off him in the most polite way possible.

“Yes, Sherlock?” John chuckles at Lestrade, watching him mumble and stumble around aimlessly while Sherlock is keeping a vice like grip on his shoulders to make him stand properly.

“It would be rather nice if you gave me a hand instead of laughing, John.” Sherlock grunts impatiently “Now, please call a cab for Lestrade here.” he snaps at John hurriedly,

John is still chuckling. “Right. Sure.”

Sherlock starts to frown, grumbling at the task of trying to keep Lestrade on his feet whilst planning on how he’s going to make an entrance or appearance, if you might, at NSY tomorrow.

***

At half past 10 the next morning, Sherlock marches up to John’s room and slams the door open.

“Up. You have 10 minutes to get ready.” Sherlock orders as he stares at the lump under all the duvets.

“Mmmf- no.” John groans sleepily.

“Yes. And at the state of your hangover, I assume we’d most likely leave the house at 11. So why not you wash up and sober up before we leave.” Sherlock tells John as he places a glass and a couple of painkillers next to it on John’s nightstand.

“Whatever. Go away.” John grunts again and turns so that his back is facing Sherlock. “Where are we supposed to go anyway?” he asks in a thick, sleepy voice.

“NSY.”

“What?” John sits up startled and falls back almost immediately because of his pounding headache, clutching the sides of his head and wailing into his pillow.

“Take these before doing anything else.” Sherlock smirks as he shoves the pills and glass into John’s face. “We have to see Lestrade again, remember? I assume he has more questions especially since he’s sober. Plus won’t Donavan be delighted to see me? Not to mention that imbecile, Anderson.”

John lets out a small sigh. _Isn’t he just lovely in the mornings? Ugh._ “Sure. Give me 15 minutes. I need to take a shower.” John says as he gets up heavily and pushes Sherlock out of his room.

***

After taking his shower, he fires up his laptop in his room. _Hm, didn’t realise I did this. Was I that drunk..?_ , he thinks while reading his blog post that he posted earlier before falling back to sleep. He proceeds to scroll down and notices that his inbox is full with messages already.  
 _Oh dear lord. How am I going to tell Sherlock?_ He opens up his inbox and goes through the emails one by one. Numerous people are questioning whether if it’s true that Sherlock came back; some of them already sent John details about cases that they hope Sherlock will solve and some even ask if Moriarty was really dead since Sherlock could fake his death, why not Moriarty? John gives up after around 15 emails because it really is too much and also the fact that he can hear Sherlock nagging at him to get down so that they could leave (John likes to procrastinate sometimes, what are you going to do about it? *shrugs*) The doctor quickly throws on his clothes, grumbling about his impatient flatmate. John walks down the stairs hurriedly. (Oh and did he mention he’s gotten better? He almost can’t feel the pain in his leg.)As he walks into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee, Sherlock stops him,

“I’ve made you a mug. It’s on the table.” Sherlock grins at him. “Oh and I didn’t put any sugar like last time.” he adds with a sweet smile.

John chuckles and thanks Sherlock whilst chugging the warm black liquid down.

“Oh and since we’re late already,” Sherlock starts. John quirks an eyebrow at him, and he continues “why not we go for brunch? I’m sure Lestrade won’t mind especially if we bring him coffee when we go to meet him.”

 _Is Sherlock being nice and thoughtful here? Woah._ John thinks as he stares at Sherlock. “Uh sure. Why not.” he blurts, a smile leaking across his face.

“Oh stop that. I know what you’re thinking. I’m perfectly capable of being ‘thoughtful’ every once in awhile.” Sherlock snaps playfully, throwing John’s jacket at his and pushing him out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. I've been struggling with my bloody exams and guess what? I've got a C and an E for my maths. SO DONE WITH THIS SHIT. *flips table*
> 
> Anywayyyy... Thank you for all the lovely support from you guys. Really appreciate it. x
> 
> Please remember to check D out at obviously-i-m-sherlocked.tumblr.com and bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com .
> 
> Follow me on tumblr too! jawnhamish.tumblr.com
> 
> thanks guys! Again, so sorry for the delays. ajkfcernvrkier
> 
> P/s : feedback would be really lovely. Just saying.


	5. Serious Talk Time. Right?

After having a quiet breakfast at Speedy’s, John and Sherlock leave the little café with a steaming cup of coffee, preparing to face the wrath of a man, namely Gregory Lestrade of NSY.  
As it was a rather nice day, they decided to walk to Scotland Yard instead of hailing a cab; On the way there Sherlock ‘attempts’ at making small talk, much to John’s amusement.

“Do you think he’d be glad?” Sherlock wonders aloud, gazing out at the street surrounding them. John feels a small smile grow on his face at the obvious awkwardness in Sherlock’s voice.

“Hm? Do you mean Greg?” He smirks, glancing up at his friend,

“Of course I mean ‘Greg’.” Retorts Sherlock with air quotation marks. “Is that really his name though?” Sherlock looks confusedly over at John, genuine innocence on his features,

John chuckles looking back out in front of him, “Of course it is, you git. For a genius, you really can be an idiot sometimes.”

Sherlock’s confusion melts into a sly grin and the two of them carry on their stroll.

***

Ten minutes later, the boys are striding their way up to the NSY building. It is humid and sticky inside and the air conditioning does nothing but cover the heat in a damp blanket. They have to reach Lestrade’s division on the 7th floor so they tiredly clamber up the south staircase with huffs and sighs of distaste. As they make their way up, they passed many confused and startled faces who stop and stare at the supposedly dead detective.

“Just keep walking.” John mutters as encouragement. 

As they barge their way through the thick wooden doors at the top of the staircase they quite literally bump into Sally Donovan, who regards John cooley with a smirk and a tut, glancing back to look at Sherlock,

“Hey freak.” Sally says without thinking; as the words slip from her mouth, she takes a step back and looks up just to be sure she isn’t going crazy, “Wait. W-what?! What are you doing here, freak?! Oh my god. ANDERSON! Come here! Hurry up. Oh my god.” She looks as though she’s about to fall down the stairs.

“What do yo- SHERLOCK?!” Anderson exclaims as he rounds the corner to find Sally standing in front of a man he deemed gone forever. “What the hell are you doing here? You’re dead, for Christ sake.” he points the obvious, again.

Sherlock and John don’t say anything since bumping into Sally, allowing the shocked pair to continue their babbling. Sherlock huffs with annoyance, cutting into their quarrel,  
“Done? Good. Where’s Lestrade?” He growls, already bored with the reaction and back to his obnoxious self.

John tries not to roll his eyes but fails miserably. 

The female officer was still too dumbfounded to use proper words. Dumbly, she uselessly points in the direction of Lestrade’s office, staring in awe as the two stride past her. Anderson comes to his senses first, barging past Sally with a sigh. Sally blinks in confusion and follows like a lost puppy after him. The whole ordeal is very amusing to Sherlock and John, causing them to snicker down the corridor to themselves like school boys.

***

“Afternoon, Lestrade.” Sherlock greets with an excessive amount of enthusiasm for any man trying to nurse a hangover on a work day.

Lestrade groans as he looks up from his week’s worth of paperwork on his desk to his two ‘visitors’. He acknowledges John with a small nod and stands up to face both of the gentlemen, wobbling slightly.

“Now,” Lestade starts, “about last night. Do not, I repeat, do not breathe a word of it to anyone.” He pauses before continuing. “Or I swear to god. I will personally hunt you down and make sure you stay dead, Sherlock.” He eyes Sherlock threateningly before breaking into a grin, “Now where’s my coffee?”

Sherlock looks confused for the second time that day.

_He has a lot to get used to. Again._ John thinks as he tries to remember a time where Sherlock was ever confused before the fall.

Sherlock absentmindedly gives Lestrade a now cold cup of coffee. Lestrade takes a sip of it and makes a face before placing it on his desk. “Should’ve used a thermos, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nods weakly and opens his mouth as if to say something before shutting it again. He is carefully rethinking his words. Just like how he plays his violin, delicately and gently choosing the right keys to produce a beautiful melody. Or in this situation, a conversation without any possible awkwardness or arguments. “You’re not angry..?” He asks, treading lightly on the tender topic.

“Nope.” Lestrade says while shaking his head. “Not angry.” He adds, with a small wry grin, letting his eyes rest on Sherlock. Sherlock looks relieved, or at least slightly less worried, John can’t tell. That was until Lestrade’s smile drops, “Not angry. But absolutely furious.” he growls.

“Oh.” It’s all Sherlock can manage. fiddling with the hem of his shirt like a child who is being scolded by a headmaster.

“Right. So, why?” Lestrade snaps “Why did you leave us?” he almost bellows, making the once confident detective flinch. John shares a look with Lestrade that is both heartbroken and guilty, “Myc...Myc didn’t tell me much...even after last night.” Lestrade’s anger filters to melancholy and he leans back in his chair, eyeing Sherlock carefully.

Sherlock clears his throat with a gulp, lifting his gaze to Lestrade’s as though he is a dog being told off, “It was mostly...because of Moriarty and his web.”He forces out, “Most of it has been terminated. Nothing to worry about anymore.” Sherlock explains.

Suddenly he jerks his head up again to look Lestrade right in the eye. “Wait. Myc? What Myc? Mycroft?! Really, Lestrade?! My brother?! Really?!” Sherlock shouts at our detective inspector and groans in disgust rather loudly, moving closer to his desk to observe his reaction. 

Lestrade starts to blush. A red tinge creeps up his neck from his grey button down, only confirming Sherlock’s deductions. 

John looks in awe from a flustered Lestrade to a huffy Sherlock. 

“Really?! Since when, mate? Why didn’t you tell me? Gosh. Congrats.” John says and smiles widely at Lestrade. 

“Oh ah… If I’m not mistaken, next Saturday would be our 6-month-anniversary.” Lestrade says shyly while looking down at his shoes. “Wasn’t even meant to tell anyone actually.”

Sherlock scoffs and fold his arms, like a child he tends to be.

“Oh do behave, Sherlock.” John snaps at him, with no real anger in his voice. “Let the man have some fun. After all, he does have to put up with the queen.”

Sherlock bites his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud, making a snorting noise instead, and Lestrade looks at both of them confusingly hoping they would explain until he realizes that this must be some sort of inside joke between the two of them.

The tense atmosphere seems to melt away with the smouldering heat in the small office as the two of them giggle quietly to each other, Lestrade’s confused face only making it worse.

“So, do you have any cases for me?” Sherlock clears his throat seriously. “It’s been rather dull at Baker Street recently. Small ones would be fine if you don’t have a good 7 or 8 in any of your new cases.” he nudges John to quit giggling and looks up expectantly at Lestrade from the small couch in the office.

Lestrade chews his lower lip and looks vacantly at the ceiling. “Er.. I don’t think we have much recently. Rather boring here too.” he admits, shuffling some papers around on his desk “I’ve been too busy catching up on my paperwork. However, we do have quite a few cold cases from after you left. Would you want that?” Lestrade questions and continues. “I could send them to 221B after work today.”

“That would be fantastic!” Sherlock grins maniacally and hops up from the couch before walking out of the office. “Thank you Lestrade. La-erz!” He shouts over his shoulders. 

John gives Lestrade a smile and says, “See you later, Greg.” After that, John hurries off after the tall man striding miles at a time with his Belstaff coat trailing behind him. 

“Sherlock!” John huffs as he tries to catch his breath. _That man is insufferable._

“Hurry up, John.” Sherlock bellows from very far ahead.

_That man will be the death of me_ , John grumbles and starts running to try and catch up with his long-legged friend.

Lestrade, back at the office, smiles happily to himself, listening to the two men calling after each other. He’s glad Sherlock’s back, John needs him more than the police or anyone does; It’s nice to see him happy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! Yes. I finally updated. ( _oh you bitch_ ) yes yes yes i know. Hiatus for like a month. Im so sorry my beautiful people. I know it's awhile but I was on holiday and such ( _stupid excuses_ ) I'm so sorry :(  
> Please check out my beta, Daisy! I finally asked her if I could use her name and she said yes! (I feel like I proposed to her. idek) You can find her at hr rp-blog, bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com and her main blog, obviously-i-m-sherlocked.tumblr.com.  
> Also, my name's Jinn. Yes, it's asian. Hi! Please check me out at jawnhamish.tumblr.com


	6. The Blog

It’s half past 4 and the boys are having tea in the sitting room of 221B Baker Street.

Mrs Hudson had brought freshly baked cookies a few minutes ago and that is what the men are currently snacking on. John is trying to reply to as many emails as possible, nestled in his comfy armchair with his cup of tea next to him, however, Sherlock is doing pretty much the opposite and is lying on the floor with his arms next to his body as if he is pinned there; His tea is not far from him but the plate of cookies is placed on his stomach.

John stops typing after a long while and looks down at his tall and languid flatmate on the floor. “What are you doing, Sherlock?” He queries and furrows his brows.

“Shhhh…” Sherlock hushes John.

“What?”

“Shhhh…” He hushes John again but continues, “How’s the blog coming?”

“W-what?” John’s eyes widen as he searches his mind for an answer for Sherlock.

“Don’t be daft, John.” Sherlock scolds. “You do know you are living with a genius right?” he grins, grabbing hold of the plate of cookies and jumps up to cross the room where John is, peering over his shoulder.

“Ahah! I was right.” He smirks and starts reading the contents of the page, It reads:

 

>   
> **‘Hi, how’s everything at Baker Street then?**
> 
> \- from : graduating-cumberlady’

“BOOOORING!!!” Sherlock shouts at the screen.

“Sherlock!” John glares sternly at the tall man peering over his shoulder at his laptop. “Everything is just fine. Just fine.” mumbles John as he types his reply to the fan.

“Now, what is this boys?” Mrs Hudson pops out of nowhere and stares disapprovingly at the boys.

“Nothing, Mrs Hudson!” John gives her his winning smile and continues, “Just one of the fans asking on how we are.”

“Oh, hello then deary! We are all doing very well down here. How sweet of you to ask. How lovely.” Mrs Hudson then gives a small smile and starts to walk out the door.

“She does know that the fan can’t hear her right?” Sherlock asks John as soon as Mrs Hudson was out of earshot.

John smirks to himself, “I’ll just type in her reply too.”

Sherlock nods and grabs a few cookies from the plate. In a burst of boredom, he balances one on his forehead; finding that easy, he places another on both his very prominent cheekbones and another on his chin, “Look! Look at me, John!” Sherlock laughs and flails his arms in an attempt to balance the cookies on his face.

John takes a look at Sherlock and laughs harder than Sherlock has ever made him laugh, “What on earth are you doing you idiot!?” he wheezes.

Startled by John’s laugh, the cookie on Sherlock’s right cheekbone falls off followed by the one on his chin and left cheekbone. “Oh look at what you’ve done, John.” He giggles picking up the cookie from his forehead and shoving it in his mouth, muffling his laughter.

“The things you do when you get bored...honestly.” The doctor shakes his head.

“Mm, these cookies really are good.” Sherlock mumbles while picking up the ones that have fallen on the floor “Do you have another email, John? That fan was rather nice. Maybe soon they will come with cases and maybe it won’t be so dull around here.”

John chuckles to himself quietly at Sherlock’s childish excitement,“Yes. We do have emails, Sherlock. Quite a few actually. And most of them are really nice. They mostly ca-”

“Can we do another?” Sherlock cuts John off before he could finish his sentence.

“Another? Really?” John is surprised, very pleasantly surprised. _I thought he hated this blog...I knew he’d come around to it._ “Um...okay then” he smiles.

Sherlock grins and sits on the arm of John’s chair, perching next to John like a child would if it’s father is telling it an exciting story.

“Oh uh… How about this one?” John points to an email from Anonymous.

 

>   
> **‘Hey Sherlock what are your thoughts on John?**
> 
> \- from : Anonymous’

“Anonymous? Who’s that?” Sherlock glances quizzically at John and looks back at the email.

John ignores his comment and focusses on the question, “Would you like to do the honors, Sherlock?” John chuckles and shoves the laptop onto Sherlock’s lap.

“Oooh.” His mouth forming a perfectly shaped ‘O’ and then pursed together as he collects his thoughts and finds a way to put his thoughts on John in words. “Hm… He’s my… blogger… and my… best friend, my only friend.” My companion and partner. We’re double acts, John. The words Sherlock wants to write remain in his head, welling up inside of him. ‘Pull yourself together Sherlock!’ he mentally yells and takes a deep breath in, turning his attention back to the laptop screen,

“Good?” Sherlock mutters, showing the laptop to his friend, his dark voice cracking slightly (barely noticeable to everyone except John). He gives John a small smile and glances away to distract himself from this unfamiliar and very uncontrollable presence of emotions swelling in his chest.

“Uh yeah. Good. It’s uh… very good.” _Is he crying? Is he actually tearing? Oh dear lord. Sherlock._ John’s mouth pulls into a grim line on his face as memories and emotions from Sherlock falling suddenly flood his thoughts. _He falls. He just falls._ He’s still frowning unknowingly at the laptop when Sherlock calls him.

“John?...John? do you want more tea?” Sherlock can’t seem to get John’s attention and he gives him a worrying look. “John..?” He taps John’s shoulder.

No response.

“John?” He croaks feebly, a weight dropping in his gut, his hands begin to shake and he shoves John in an attempt to snap him out of whatever it is. Relief flooded through him when the doctor jumps slightly and his eyes focus again.

“W-what?!” He looks up rather annoyed and then apologetically as he realized he must have been ignoring Sherlock.

Sherlock tries to brush it off as he can see that John is obviously upset about what just happened,

“Oh uh… I was just wondering if you would like another cup of tea?” Sherlock gives John a tight smile.

“Oh yes please. And uh...”John can’t seem to find the words to apologise; he is still trying to wrap his head around what just happened as it is.

“Yes...?” Sherlock coaxes helpfully, a stab or pain in his heart to see his friend like this.

The doctor looks blankly up at Sherlock, confusion passing his eyes briefly before he pulls his mask back up and smiles lightly, “Um...thank you.” he stutters, watching Sherlock’s face fall into confusion, “I mean for the tea!” John blurts when he realised that he wasn’t making sense.

“No problem.” And with a swish of his robe, Sherlock bustles into the kitchen and busies himself with making a new pot of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mrrp hi. I know it's rather short but hey. I've started putting in the features of the blog...  
> The posts are real and you can find them on Daisy's RP-blog. I'll just link them here because why the hell not.
> 
> http://bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com/post/46975964836 and http://bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com/post/46971284846
> 
> Please do check out both of Daisy's blog her RP-blog is above and her main blog is suicideofsherlock.tumblr.com
> 
> My blog is jawnhamish.tumblr.com and also do me a favor? Vote for me aka jawnhamish in alongcametheponds botm here - > poll.pollcode.com/kfuq3
> 
> Last but not least, I really would appreciate tips on my way of writing. I can feel it is getting worse but I'm not sure how. Please tell me if you've noticed it too. Thanks!


	7. A New Friend, Perhaps?

John awakes one morning to the sound of an explosion. He groans, pulls the duvet over his face and mutters under his breath, “Goddammit Sherlock. It’s too early for this.” But when it comes to a bored sociopath, nothing is too early.

John swings his feet over the edge of the bed, grabs his night gown and walks down the stairs while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes furiously.

“Sherlo-“, He starts and stops himself. He notices another man’s presence in the room and analyses the situation.

_Sherlock in a fresh crisp suit, walking around throwing books around, obviously looking for something. And someone, a man, most likely, walking around in the kitchen. Most likely Mycroft? Hm. Yes. The black umbrella._ After being vaguely aware of what is currently going on, John pads over to Sherlock, still hazy from sleep. God, his thoughts are starting to become more like the detective.

“So what does Mycroft want this time?” John mutters quietly while yawning.

Sherlock looks over his shoulder and smirks,

“Ah John. Apologies about the explosion. A certain cake eater’s umbrella accidentally hit the table and caused my petri dish of potassium pellets to drop into my cup of tea.” Sherlock glares accusingly at Mycroft. “Thankfully I only had 2 pellets in that petri dish or else the circumstances would have been dire.”

At this point, Mycroft is sitting in John’s chair watching the pair of flatmates. He frowns disapprovingly at Sherlock’s choice of words but doesn’t say anything. He stands abruptly and straightens his grey suit,

“Right. I best be off. Sherlock, please do try to remember where you left the files. I don’t want them getting into the wrong hands.” He twitches his eyebrows in a pleading sort of way, “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an apology to make to dear Mrs Hudson.” Mycroft leaves without another word and Sherlock’s gaze follows him out as he shuts the door behind him.

They turn to each other and listen intently, a smirk leaks across Sherlock’s face.

After the sound of footsteps walking down the stairs decrease, the boys hear a door open and Mycroft’s soft mumbles which, in return, was replied by Mrs Hudson disapproving tone and her incessant need to nag at the elder Holmes for creating a scorch mark on the asbestos ceiling.

Upstairs, Sherlock and John giggle quietly to themselves.  

As John starts another pot of tea, Sherlock’s phone goes off. The army doctor watches the sleuth spring up from his chair and grab the phone.

A shark-like grin spreads across his face.

“What are you grinning about?” John queries as he sets his tea down on his side table and picks up the newspaper lying on the arm of his chair.

Sherlock looks up from his phone and smiles. “Read it.” He states and chucks the phone at John who catches it easily in his free hand, His eyes scan over the screen,

> **5 bodies found in Russell Square. 4 men lying on the ground, pointing in the directions of a compass. And another lady held up with a stake or pole behind her. All men shot in the genitals and in the mouth. Lady shot through the head and apparent bruises on her wrists. You coming?  - GL**

John looks up in horror just as Sherlock snatches the phone back and replies Lestrade immediately, his dexterous fingers jabbing at the phone keypad with great speed.

There is silence for a while and  John feels slightly disgusted, pulling a face and turning away from his tea.

There is a quiet clunk as Sherlock sets his phone back onto the the coffee table.

> **Lestrade… Are you sure it is that important? – SH**

Sherlock slumps back into his chair and steepled his hands under his chin,

“Hm… This sounds like a 5 honestly.” His baritone rumbles and he rolls his eyes.

The doctor blinked at him in surprise,

“Really? It sounds pretty gruesome to me.” he almost laughed despite himself, “I think we should go.”

Sherlock glances up, irritation in his eyes. “It just sounds like a psychopath has gone on a rampage. Nothing the normal detectives can’t handle.” He scoffs and closes his eyes.

“Sherlock…” John’s ‘a-bit-not-good’ tone is present in his voice. ”It sounds serious. We should go.”

The tall man sighs audibly and curls himself up on his chair, desperate to avoid the situation,

“Sherlock…” John’s tone darkens and Sherlock flicks his eyes open, fixing them on his flatmate in anger.

The two men result in heated a stare off.

Silence stretches between them. only the ticking of a nearby clock can be heard.

2 minutes. 3 minutes.

Almost 5 whole minutes.

“Ugh. Fine!” Sherlock waves his arms exasperatedly, launching himself from his chair and proceeds to storm out the door, grabbing his coat in the process.

The military man feels his jaw clench and he sighs loudly at the moody detective,

“HOLD ON YOU DOLT!” He hollers after him, “I’M STILL IN MY NIGHTWEAR!”

The curly haired head of Sherlock Holmes pokes around the door with a crumpled expression and an arched eyebrow. John shoots him a glare,

“I didn’t say we have to go now you infantile.”

***

4 hours and a chase around London later, Sherlock and John decide to eat in and have a take away. As both of them are about to eat their food, Sherlock’s phone rings.

Someone’s calling.

Sherlock frowns and grabs his phone, checking for a caller ID. A forkful of food still hovering in front of his mouth,

“It’s a blocked number.” He looks up momentarily at John.

“Pick it up then.” John frowns unknowingly, “And put it on speaker.”

Sherlock nods obediently, placing the phone in the middle of the table. He sets down his fork grumpily and crosses his arms. If looks could kill that phone would have been dead.

“Hello.” The voice purred seductively. It’s a female voice.

John glances up at Sherlock and his brows knit even harder.

“Seems like you were reluctant to check on the bodies. How sad.” A pout rises in the voice.

Sherlock’s eyes gleam in realization, nodding to confirm John’s thoughts without having John ask him.

“So… it was you?” Sherlock asks, only to confirm this assumption.

There is a second of silence on the other end, as if the person is thinking of what to say,

“I thought you’d be happy.” They murmured “I feel unappreciated now.”

John is genuinely worried and curious right now and he stares at Sherlock, trying to get answers out of him.

The voice continues,

“I feel unappreciated now. Oh Sherlock. Look what you do to me.”  They sounding mockingly broken, a smirk hiding in their words,

“You murdered those people!” Sherlock exclaims abruptly, slamming his fist down onto the table, sending his fork to the floor. “I bet you’re working with Moriarty? Did he set you up to this?” Sherlock’s nostrils flare, his body shakes, barely able to contain his anger. John stares at his friend with deep concern, wishing he could somehow calm him.

There came no answer from the phone.

Silence.

Sherlock grit his teeth and snarls, “TELL ME!!” His blue eyes are wild with fury.

The phone goes dead.

There is a silence between them again. They both look desperately at the phone with bated breath.

John was the first to break the silence, lifting his head to glance at the detective,

“Sherlock…” he started “We should report her.”

Sherlock’s eyes flick to John’s, narrowing minutely and John can still feel some of the remaining anger pin him in place, “Oh no, John.” he practically growled, “If our new found criminal wants to play, we have to play along.”

John massaged his temples; _it’s been a bloody long day. And now this!?_ ,  He forced himself to calm down,

“Ah… I see…” he managed the best he could without leaping over the table and strangling him. He sat in a wave of silence, eyes flickering to Sherlock and down at the phone. Anticipation rises in his stomach and he cautiously asks his question,

“Do you, um...do you think Moriarty is behind this?” His deep blue eyes rest on Sherlock patiently. The detective seems to mull over the doctor’s question for a while.

Finally, Sherlock hums in agreement, “More than likely…Yes.” A smile slips across his face, “This is going to get interesting.”

John groans inwardly as he realises there is no way stopping Sherlock from pursuing this case anymore.

“But why would they do this? What would they get from me now?” He mumbles as he ruffles his hair in frustration.

“Maybe… They want some recognition?” John muses while sipping on a mug of tea, watching his flatmate think.

“Good, John. You’re catching on.” Sherlock smirks, as if proud of John, which he is actually.

The topic ends and both men continue with their dinner in silence, obviously too caught up in their thoughts to have a proper conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all have the right to punch me in the face for abandoning you. im so sorry. i guess IOU muahahaha
> 
> remember to check out daisy's rp blog here -> bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com and her normal blog -> suicideofsherlock.tumblr.com
> 
> my name's jinn and you can find me at jawnhamish.tumblr.com x
> 
> p/s : first case? ohohoho


	8. First Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story based entirely on this.  
> http://bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com/post/48780611215

_Who is she? What does she want? Why is she here? Why? Why? Why?_

Thoughts race through Sherlock’s mind at incomprehensible speed. Trying to collect information about this person. _Who is she?_

He’s running through his palace now, opening forbidden doors. The doors he swore to never touch again. To forget the pain. To forget the loss. And to forget the silence. He did not spend three years of his life, hunting and killing Moriarty’s henchmen only to have one of them suddenly appear out of nowhere.

_No. Can’t say she is with Moriarty yet. She didn’t say she is. Need evidence._

He snaps himself out of the reverie to look at the time. _Half past 2 in the morning._ The slender man sighs and stands to make himself another cup of tea. John knows it is pointless trying to get Sherlock to sleep, especially because she called.

  _A sleepless night it is then,_ He thought.

After setting his tea cup on the table, he picks up his block of rosin and applies it to his bow. After applying a coating he deems fit, he picks up his violin and pulls the bow across the strings.

A mewling sound comes from it and drifts into the night.

_It’s so quiet._

He pulls the bow across the strings again. A high note rings in the sitting room of the flat.

_It’s too quiet._

Sherlock snaps his eyes shut and starts to play Adagio cantabile – Allegro vivace solemnly, quietly. He loses himself the only way he knows how: in his music. Sherlock is too caught up in the melody to realise he played a bit too loudly when he hit a crescendo.

John was still in his bed curled into a ball in his duvets when the melody hits him. At first he thinks he’s dreaming. He hasn’t heard the sound of a violin since Sherlock fell. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. Our good doctor continued to lie in bed for a good 5 minutes, listening to Sherlock’s violin, smiling despite being up at almost 3am in the morning. Hauling himself off the bed, he made his way out of his room to enjoy the concert downstairs.

Sherlock doesn’t hear the creaking of steps as John cautiously walks down, obviously shutting off the rest of the world leaving himself with his music.

John smiles when he sees Sherlock playing by the window through the doorway. He had missed this. His companion, his _friend_ , being at home with his violin. He had really missed this. _This is home. This is our home. And I will never let him out of my sight again._ His smile pulls tightly into a grim line as he leans against the doorway, watching Sherlock play.

When Sherlock finishes his piece, he sets his violin back in its case. As he locks the case he becomes aware that someone is watching him.

“John,” He breathes. “I’m sorry if I woke you. You may return to bed now. I apologize.”

John chuckles and snorts, “Go to bed. Sure.” He rolls his eyes. “As if it could be that simple now.”

Sherlock gives him a wry smile and picks up his saucer. “Tea?”

John nods and moves to pick up a book to read in his chair.

When Sherlock returns with the pot of tea, the two men sit in their arm chairs in a comfortable companionship till dawn, with John reading his book and Sherlock playing Scherzo by Beethoven softly over and over again.

***

It’s about 10am when the boys decide to freshen up and leave the flat for some breakfast at John’s usual café down the street.

 It’s a beautiful morning, so the boys decide to buy their cups of coffee and breakfast and take it to the nearby park to eat. The sun is warm but not too sunny and the wind blows gently, providing a cool breeze without overpowering the warmth of the sun.

Today is the kind of day that Sherlock doesn’t wear his coat but a suit jacket instead. Both men sit on a bench at the edge of the park beneath a tree with rather low branches. Sherlock obviously deems his body as transport but he doesn’t argue about the sandwich and black coffee John bought for him, in fact, he feels grateful.

John doesn’t ask about the phone call from last night because he knows Sherlock will tell him when he’s ready; Sherlock doesn’t tell John more about the phone call because he does not have enough information to come to an even logical hypothesis.  And because of this, they have reached a stalemate.

 A sudden chime of a phone breaks the silence.

Sherlock reaches into his suit pocket eagerly and pulls out his phone.

“Text from Lestrade,” He grunts and checks the text.

> **_Sherlock. Call me when you get this. A double murder with a note. "Bring the boys. - JC x". Do you have any clue about this? – GL_ **

“My god, Sherlock. It’s her! She’s done it again!” John hisses venomously and tightens his grip on his cup of coffee.

“We need to go. Now.” He stands up, straightens his suit and starts to walk off at a fast pace.

John chuckles as he tries to catch up with Sherlock, peering into his face as he does, “Suddenly interested in the case then?”

Sherlock whirls around, grinning at John, looking almost shark-like, “How could I not be? We’ve found ourselves a psychopath.”

John’s face pulls into a grimace, “Yes. One that’s fixed on killing you. Again.” He runs his hand through his hair in disbelief. _Again._ “Don’t you think it’s a bit dangerous?”

Sherlock scoffs at him, _He actually scoffed!_   “Of course not. What makes you think that?”

John shakes his head and doesn’t say anymore.

***

**BRICK STREET, MAYFAIR, W1J**

“Alright. What have you got?” Sherlock barks as soon as he saw Lestrade is within earshot.

“Ah-” Lestrade begins but Sherlock cuts him off.

“Let me guess, you have yet to receive anything useful and Anderson is on forensics today. How lovely.” Sherlock states. “But then I never guess. Fine. Give me whatever you believed useful.”

“Ah- okay.” Lestrade scratches the back of his head and opens his notebook, “Victims both male, Stewart Noah Alger and Alan James Morris, aged 22 and 24; most likely friends.” He flips his notebook shut, “That’s all.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes striding past Lestrade and into the flat.

_No signs of forced entry. Door mat slightly damp. Umbrella stand still wet. Cups of tea._

“Well,” Lestrade starts. “Any ideas?”

“Yes.” Sherlock stands upright. “A few actually.”

“Let’s hear it then.”

“First thing, the door mat. It’s still slightly damp and it hasn’t been raining for the, hold on.” Sherlock checks his phone. “For the past 6 hours. She must have come in in the midst of the storm. _Oh_ and how do I know the person is a she?”

Sherlock pauses, waiting for the detective inspector to catch up. “Again, the doormat. She wore heels. There are two patches of damp and slightly muddy spots, almost round but still elongated. Heels then. And only two marks, obviously from a left and a right, so only one woman.”

“But how would you know she came in the storm?”

“Simple. The umbrella stand. There is still a puddle from where she left the umbrella. This indicates she either left not long ago or she was here during the heavy downpour. She obviously left at least 5 hours ago because she would have to clean up after herself and wait for the rain to cease. This brings me to assume she arrived at the household, knocked on the door and was invited inside around 7 hours ago. 2 hours to take care of business then.”

“Amazing.” John awes at the conclusions Sherlock managed to come to just from a doormat and umbrella stand: Simple, mundane objects.

Sherlock’s cheekbones tinge a very light shade of pink. Almost unnoticeable. “Thank you.” He nods appreciatively at John.

He sweeps his eyes across the living room again before proceeding. “She obviously knew the victims.” With a tilt of his head he adds, “Or at least one of them.”

“How..?” Lestrade’s brows furrow in confusion.

 _Honestly I wonder why I put up with idiots,_ Sherlock sighs.

“The cups of tea and the teapot. Look how the teapot’s handle is pointed in this particular direction and the drops in front of the spout but nowhere else? The person sitting here was obviously the one serving the tea to the others. Hopefully to avoid an awkward moment.” Sherlock rolls his eyes again. O _rdinary people._ “But the situation itself is quite awkward as it is…” Sherlock drifts off.

_There’s something else._

_There’s always something._

_Think. Think. Think!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies. It's nice to be back. so... casefic anyone?
> 
> right. do remember to follow me at hauntedjohn.tumblr.com  
> like the new url? it's for this month only. hehe.
> 
> also follow Daisy on her RP blog and main blog oright? bakerstreethousehold.tumblr.com and suicideofsherlock.tumblr.com  
> do be nice to her. she's a lifesaver for all she's done for me.


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